She finds you
by Aussieflower
Summary: A two-shot about how Irene finds Sherlock after Reichenbach. Featuring Molly. BTW, Irene and Sherlock have a daughter in this, Selena. Enjoy xx
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. So this is just a little two shot I had planned. Well, I say planned – basically it's been nagging me for ages, and I finally got the time to plan it out and write it down. There will be another chapter after this one, so stay tuned!**

**Oh, and also, for some random reason, I wanted Sherlock and Irene to have a child in this. I have no idea where **_**that**_** temptation came from (maybe writing a fic about Nero makes Sherlock and Irene becoming parents seem normal...), but I just somehow had to include her. Her name is Selena (one of my friends from first grade was called Lena, and I desperately wanted to use that nickname. Another weird temptation, I guess).**

**Anyway, sorry for the whole bringing in an OC without any sort of introduction thing. **

**Enjoy xx**

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Molly sensed she was being watched.

She supposed it shouldn't surprise her too much given her current situation, but it made her anxious.

It scared her.

She hadn't hesitated once with aiding Sherlock in faking his death. She was, after all, his friend, and she had promised to help him, should he ever ask.

She certainly hadn't expected that he would ask her though, and was once again shocked when he revealed his elaborate plan to her. She had thought he might talk to her about his problems in life, maybe come over for tea and biscuits. It sounded ludicrous now, and Molly wondered if she had honestly though he would do that or if was just a part of some fantasy she had thought up while bored.

She supposed now that she should have given more thought to the repercussions of helping Sherlock with such a huge and dangerous plan. One of them was having to deal with the continuous waves of guilt whenever she saw Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or John. The other was having to deal with the sadness when she saw Sherlock's depressed face.

But somehow she hadn't thought about the fact that someone would watch her.

Sherlock associated himself with dangerous people. What if they were now after her?

She was certain that someone seemed to be keeping an eye on her. She could almost see someone following her or watching her out of the corner of her eye. She could almost feel someone's gaze trained on her back while she walked.

Ad although she was cautious and watchful, she could never spot the same person twice.

After two days she decided to confront Sherlock with her fears. He was staying with her in her apartment for a while, waiting until all the chaos died down. He was busy, arranging things with Mycroft, who had deemed it unsafe for Sherlock to get out of Britain while the press were going crazy about him.

"I think I'm being watched" she admitted one morning while the two of them were having breakfast. Well, _she_ was eating something, and he was simply sitting at the table, hands folded together and staring into the distance thinking. He didn't seem to hear her, and Molly repeated herself. That seemed to catch his attention.

He turned around sharply to look at her, and Molly gulped slightly. She had come to know a different side to Sherlock in the last few days, a depressed, hurt and aching side that many had previously overlooked. He wasn't emotionless anymore, he was hurting.

"Watched by whom?" he asked and Molly shrugged.

"I dunno" she said. "But I can literally feel someone's eyes on me. Do you think his people could be - ?"

Sherlock shook his head, frowning. "Unlikely. All the same" he said, looking at her with a very faint trace of worry in his eyes, "it would be unwise to eliminate the possibility."

Molly nodded. "What should I do?"

"I suggest you go about your normal routine. They shouldn't have reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary. The only thing that could possibly link you to my supposed death is that you work at the morgue, but there are plenty of others who also pronounced me dead." Sherlock sighed very slightly at that.

Sherlock didn't seem overly worried about her, so Molly took it as a sign to not worry too much either. She trusted Sherlock's judgement, and carried on as she usually did.

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A day later, a dark skinned and black haired woman stood outside of Bart's. She wasn't in uniform, and Molly walked past her, barely noticing her, until the woman stopped her, by putting a hand on her back.

Molly almost flinched at the contact, feeling suddenly scared.

"Where is he?" the woman asked calmly. She looked to be in her late twenties, and spoke with a slight accent. She stared straight into Molly's eyes. Her own eyes were a dark brown; calm and assured, but with a hint of danger.

Molly raised her eyebrows. "Sorry?" she asked, determined to act completely oblivious. The woman smiled slightly, as if she saw through her attempt.

"Sherlock Holmes" she said clearly but quietly, so as not to attract the attention of people passing by. "Where is he?"

Molly arranged her features into a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry Miss" she said, noting that the woman had no ring on her finger (a trick she had picked up from Sherlock), "but Sherlock Holmes is…well, he's dead. It's in all the newspapers."

"The press can be mistaken" the woman said. Her voice was still calm, and something in it told Molly that this woman would not hurt her. And yet her voice seemed to be getting rather insistent, and Molly realised that this woman was completely convinced she was right. She would prove very difficult to sway.

"DNA records can't" Molly answered shortly, and swore she saw the woman smirk.

"You're saying DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep?" she asked, and Molly nodded uncertainly, wondering at the change of tactic.

"Unless you know the record keeper." The woman added, and Molly blinked.

"I need to go to work" she said, and started to walk away. The woman let her.

"You know something, Miss Hooper" she called after her, and Molly stiffened for a second, before she continued walking.

When she looked back, the woman was gone.

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Sherlock wasn't at the flat when she got back, but he had left a note, saying he was arranging things with Mycroft. Molly knew that when the Holmes brothers discussed something they preferred not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

Though Molly was still slightly shaken from her encounter in the morning, she decided that a woman asking her about Sherlock hardly qualified as an emergency. The woman might have been watching her, but then again she could just have been a reporter from a newspaper or tabloid, trying to get an inside story. After all, Molly had been mentioned enough times on John's blog for others to know that she was friends with Sherlock, so she supposed members of the press might turn to her.

She decided that if something like this happened again, she would ask Mycroft to sort it out, but until then, she would ignore the encounter.

For two days no one disturbed her, although there were times when Molly still felt the sensation that somebody was watching her. She shrugged it off though. Sherlock wasn't too worried. He had questioned her about the woman outside Bart's when he had gotten back from Mycroft's manor, but after he heard that she was most likely somewhere from Africa, due to her skin colour and accent, he had shrugged, and agreed that it might well have been a newspaper reporter.

Nevertheless, he had told Molly to be careful, as people could disguise themselves well.

Molly went about on her daily routine. She worked from 8 til 5, ate lunch at the hospital canteen, and picked up Chinese takeaway on her way home.

She knew it had been only two days, but slowly she calmed down, to the point where she was assured that an encounter similar to the one at Bart's wouldn't repeat itself.

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She was mistaken.

That same day, after leaving work, she found a woman outside her apartment building. The woman was in her early thirties, had light blue eyes, similar to Sherlock's, wore thick black glasses and had shoulder length red hair.

Molly felt slightly nervous as she walked towards the building; she hadn't seen this woman in the area before, and as far as she knew, she had no new neighbours. She took out her phone and pretended to text as she came into the woman's range of view.

She continued to pretend to text busily as she walked towards the door, desperately hoping the woman wouldn't stop her.

"Miss Hooper" the woman said in a clear voice, with an English accent. Molly froze but didn't turn around.

"I know you know something" the woman stated, brushing back a loose strand of hair.

Molly turned around.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" she asked, attempting to sound completely calm and indifferent. The woman did not answer her question.

"Sherlock Holmes is alive" the woman continued, looking at Molly. Like the black woman, this woman seemed fairly convinced that what she was saying was correct. "You know he is alive. As does his brother, obviously, but I haven't gone to him yet."

Molly raised her eyebrows. She felt slightly dumbstruck. She knew she had to pretend that Sherlock was dead, but this woman was clever. There was a reason she was convinced of Sherlock's survival. She knew he was alive.

"You work at the morgue. You could pretend to examine his body and say that the DNA matches up. His brother would be called in to identify the body as next of kin, and of course he would keep up the façade as well. It was well planned, but I expected nothing less."

"I'm sorry." Molly said. "I have no idea what you are talking about. Sherlock Holmes is dead. Excuse me".

She made to walk towards the door, but the woman stopped her.

"You're saying you have nothing to hide, Miss Hooper?" she asked, and Molly nodded, wishing the woman would just leave her alone.

"If you have nothing to hide" the woman said carefully, "then surely you wouldn't mind inviting me up would you? I've had to walk a lot today, and I'm exhausted. A cup of tea would be lovely."

Molly stared at the woman's audacity – she had just invited herself up.

Molly closed her eyes briefly. She needed to get rid of this woman, and if she had to invite her up to get her to leave her alone, then so be it.

"Fine" she exhaled, and held the door open. The woman walked through.

Molly pressed the send button on her phone. She had been pretending to type rather rapidly, but it was all a cover for a text she had just sent up to Sherlock.

**HIDE NOW**

The two women stepped into the lift. Molly was rather frightened, and did her best not to fidget, as this was her coping mechanism in such situations.

They reached Molly's flat, and the woman stood there, still confident and convinced she was right. Molly could tell however, that after 10 minutes, she was starting to falter.

"Miss Hooper" she said as she leant forward, clutching her cup of tea in her hands. "I know he is alive. I know Sherlock, and I know he wouldn't just jump off a building. _He cannot be dead_."

Molly was a bit surprised to hear the woman only use Sherlock's first name, but shrugged it off. The woman sounded like if she was trying to comfort herself more than she was trying to convince Molly.

Molly felt relief. If the woman started to sound unsure, then it meant that her resolve was weakening.

All she had to do now was wait it out.

"He can't be dead" the woman said again. She still sounded calm and assured, but Molly heard the slight desperation in her voice that hadn't been present before.

"I'm not" a deep voice said suddenly from behind Molly, and both she and the woman whipped around. Molly's eyes widened.

Sherlock stood there, looking tired, his gaze focused on the woman next to Molly.

The woman stood up, the disbelief in her eyes lasting only a second. She didn't seem very amazed to see Sherlock in front of her, and Sherlock did not look particularly surprised to see her either. Their faces remained unreadable, although Sherlock's expression seemed to have softened slightly.

Although the woman's expression remained neutral, the expression in her eyes suddenly became furious.

"Sherlock" was all she said, her ruby red lips pursed. The two stared at each other for one second, tension in the air mounting and mounting.

Suddenly, the woman erupted.

"You tell me _now_?" she asked, her voice piercing. Molly flinched, and was thankful that the woman had so far been reasonable with her. She could be genuinely frightening.

Sherlock sighed.

"Molly, would you mind getting me and Irene some coffee please?" he asked calmly. Molly's eyes widened slightly at hearing the woman's name for the first time. The name seemed to ring a bell, but Molly shook off the feeling and walked towards the kitchen.

She had to admit she was slightly perplexed and felt left out. Sherlock had never told her that a woman might come to see him.

Although it was clear that the two knew each other, she rather doubted there was any romantic attachment between them. Sherlock just wasn't one for the whole girlfriend/boyfriend thing. Molly would know after all. She had tried for ages.

While Molly was making coffee, Sherlock walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Irene. Irene did her best to remain completely impassive, but Sherlock could see the complete and almost staggering relief in her eyes. He knew that she had been convinced that he was alive, but he had witnessed her resolve waver slightly.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He knew that he should have spoken to Irene before the newspapers started printing the story, to make it easier on her, but he had carefully considered the details, and had decided that he should wait for a week before he told her.

Irene was waiting for an explanation. She knew that not even John knew of Sherlock's survival, but if Sherlock had been so resolved to keep her in the dark then why had he revealed himself?

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was already messy. Irene raised her eyebrows.

"When did you plan on telling me? One text, Sherlock, just _one_ text, to stop me from having to go through that." she said. She had attempted to keep her voice light at the beginning, but she failed. For those few minutes at Molly's flat she had been so scared that she was wrong.

Sherlock sighed. "I'm sorry. I would have told you as soon as I deemed it safe". Irene noted just how sad and tired his voice sounded, and some of her anger faded. The fake death wasn't just affecting people who knew him, but it was taking its toll on Sherlock too.

"Safe?" Irene asked with raised eyebrows. Sherlock nodded.

"I assume you've read the newspapers?" he asked, and Irene bowed her head.

"They mentioned my suicide. And Moriarty's disappearance."

"He's really gone?" Irene questioned. She had worked for Moriarty, and he knew that as long as he was alive, she was in danger.

But Sherlock shook his head. "He's dead." Irene's eyes widened with shock.

"He killed himself" Sherlock added. He saw Irene's complete shock and understood. He would never have thought Moriarty capable of suicide either – the man loved himself too much.

"He had snipers fixed on John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade to force me to jump. I knew he would have some sort of recall code to call them off, and I knew that I could force it out of him – so did he. And so he killed himself to give me no choice. He won".

Sherlock's tone was grim; bitter, and Irene had never seen him so hopeless. She bit her lip and looked at Sherlock, forming a silent enquiry.

Sherlock nodded. "He's definitely dead. No pulse. Even Moriarty's not that good an actor."

Irene looked down at her hands. She wasn't sure how she felt about Moriarty being dead. On one side, while she had still been working with him, she had liked him. She had never felt anything for him, like she had for Sherlock, but at the time he had been so different to other men. As Sherlock had put it, she had catered to the whims of the pathetic, and Moriarty had been such a nice change from all that. But after she had supposedly died in Karachi, after she had lost her camera phone to Sherlock even, he had become dangerous and a huge threat.

She was slightly sad that he was dead, but the world was a safer place.

Sherlock's voice interrupted her train of thought. "The people close to me have to believe that I'm dead. Moriarty might be dead, but his network is enormous. I am sure he has people out looking. They think you're dead, but anything out of the ordinary concerning me might catch their attention. I was only trying to protect you. I care for you, and I was terrified that something could happen to you."

Irene nodded, accepting his explanation, and said nothing.

Sherlock eyed her for a moment before smirking to himself. "You look good ginger" he told her, which made Irene realise that she was still wearing her disguise. She chuckled.

"I think I looked better dressed up as an African woman" she answered, while she removed her wig and glasses. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"I should have realised." He said with a smile. "You certainly don't do things half way do you?"

Irene smiled slightly. "Certainly not when it concerns you" she answered.

Sherlock smirked and there was a brief silence. He was deep in thought, and Irene was processing everything he had just told her.

"I am sorry" he said after a while, taking her silence to be anger and worry. Irene shook her head.

"You have nothing to apologise for. I did the same thing after all – though I admit that our situation was slightly different then."

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, it was" he admitted, and leant in to kiss her.

Molly chose to make her reappearance at that moment. "Coffee!" she almost cried, willing to disrupt the couple. She had to admit she was in shock – she had been convinced that there hadn't been any romantic attachment between the two and yet the great and detached Sherlock Holmes who did not do relationships with anyone had just leaned in to kiss her.

Molly felt some sort of urgent need to disrupt the moment. She didn't know why. She would be lying to herself if she said that she still had no feelings for Sherlock, but she had been moving on. She would probably always want more, but right now friendship was proving to be enough. He trusted her with his life (literally), or rather with his death, so Molly knew she mattered. She just wasn't prepared to see him kiss someone else, to admit emotion so easily.

She needed time to process it.

She also realised that the woman had changed her appearance. She had removed the thick glasses and the ginger wig. Molly had to admit that the woman was even more beautiful than before. Her eyes remained the same colour, but her hair was dark brown and flowed in curls down her back.

Surprisingly, it seemed to be Sherlock who was more disappointed about the kiss, not Irene. She sighed to herself slightly while she drank her coffee, realising that Molly felt something for Sherlock.

She had to admit she felt slightly sorry for her. Sherlock had a habit of attracting women and then either never realising they had feelings for him or not attempting to requite them. Then again, she thought with a smirk, the same could have been said for her.

Molly gingerly brought the coffee tray over to them, and sat down next to them. Sherlock decided to make introductions.

"Molly, this is Irene." He chose not to elaborate further. "I gather you've been seeing her around in the last few days."

Irene smiled. "I am sorry about that." She told a rather dumbstruck Molly. "I didn't mean to scare you or make you uncomfortable in any way dear, but I just had to know if he was alive."

Molly's eyes widened. "You're the one who's been following me?" she questioned and Irene nodded.

"And outside Bart's, that was you too?"

"I suppose I might have gone slightly overboard with the makeup" Irene said with a slight smile. "But I couldn't risk anyone recognising me."

Molly nodded, not sure what to make of it all.

"How is Selena?" Sherlock asked suddenly, and Irene smiled. Sherlock hadn't seen his daughter for almost 3 months. The bond between them was extremely strong, and Irene was rather surprised that he hadn't asked about her sooner.

"She's fine" Irene said with a smile, taking a sip of her coffee, and making sure to mask her grimace when she found out that Molly had put sugar in it. "I left her with a trusted person at the hotel I'm staying at. You should visit. I'm sure she can't wait to see you. You'd be amazed to see how much she's grown."

Sherlock frowned. "You're very sure about this trusted person?" he enquired, sounding slightly worried and almost mad that Irene hadn't taken her daughter with her. Irene nodded.

"Completely."

"Who is Selena?" Molly asked, both with interest and apprehension. There was a though nagging at the back of her mind, but she dismissed it as impossible.

"Our daughter" Irene and Sherlock said at the same time, and smirked briefly at their speaking in unison. Molly looked completely shocked and dumbfounded.

"You have a daughter?" she all but squeaked, staring at Sherlock. He nodded.

"How old?" Molly managed, her voice not sounding as impassive as she had planned. Irene smiled.

"Just past her second birthday" she answered, and Molly nodded, still staring slightly. The fact that she no longer had a chance with Sherlock didn't bother her too much, now that she really thought about it, but she was simply bewildered at how little Sherlock told others about him. He seemed to expect people to trust him, and certain people, like she and John did, but she realised he had been keeping a huge amount hidden from both of them. Up til now, she hadn't even known that Sherlock had a girlfriend.

The man was certainly a mystery.

Irene stayed for another half an hour, but the finally decided it was time for her to get back to the hotel. She rose from her chair, helping Molly carry the coffee cups into the kitchen, while Sherlock stayed in the living room.

"Are you planning on going to the funeral?" she asked Molly quietly, so that Sherlock wouldn't hear them. She could guess this was probably a touchy subject for him.

Molly nodded. Over the last half hour, she had slowly started to like Irene. She had felt a little apprehensive around her at first, almost threatened, but slowly that feeling had started to fade. Molly had to admit she was still slightly in awe of her, for being able to achieve what no other woman could – capture Sherlock Holmes's heart.

"I have to go" she answered in a slight whisper. "To keep up appearances. I have a part to play, as much as I feel guilty about doing it."

Irene nodded. "I think I might go as well. I want to be there for John. He knows about me, and he just got to know Selena a few months ago, before this whole fiasco…besides" she said with a slight smile. "Any chance to make Mycroft even the slightest bit uncomfortable is too good to refuse." She winked at Molly, and walked back into the living room. Molly could only return the smile half-heartedly. Mycroft Holmes was not a person she would want to cross. If she was honest, then she had to admit that she felt rather intimidated by him.

Irene was gathering up her things and speaking to Sherlock in a low voice. He was planning a time when he could go and visit Selena at the hotel.

Sherlock kissed her goodbye, right before she left. Molly felt the need to look away.

Irene smiled at Molly. "Thank you very much for your help" she told her with a smile. "And thanks for being there for him".

Molly smiled and said goodbye, and then Irene was gone.

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**Please review!**

**Laura xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I now that once again I know that everyone wants me to update 'At their weakest' and 'And then there were 3' again, and I promise that I am working on it. The next chapter for both stories has already been planned out; all I need to do now is write it out. However, I am having family over this week, which has come all the way from Australia, and they are very dear to me, so those two stories might not be updated til next week.**

**Anyways, on to this story.**

**Phew. This is a really long chapter, and easily the longest piece I have ever written in one go. Forgive me for the language, halfway through I started reading Pride and Prejudice again, so the language is slightly similar. But I was writing Mycroft, so it was alright.**

**BTW, don't write Irene and Mycroft. Those two characters and their conversation are currently responsible for my headache.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

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Molly had to admit that she felt the tiniest bit awkward around Sherlock that day.

His behavioural patterns didn't change at all, and if Molly didn't know about Irene and Selena, she would have said that she noticed no difference. Sherlock sat on her sofa, deep in thought, a vacant expression on his face. The only thing Molly noticed was that the heaviness and sadness in his eyes was less pronounced, and his tone was…lighter somehow, as if he had just realised that there were more people who cared about him than he thought.

Even Sherlock Holmes needed the feeling of being known, and of being loved.

As soon as Irene left, Sherlock sat back down on Molly's sofa and once again stated writing hurried notes as he had in the past few days: His plan on how to take out Moriarty's network. Molly observed him carefully, but Sherlock did not look up, nor did he offer any kind of explanation regarding Irene and Selena.

Molly wondered why he refused to tell people about them. She knew that most people doubted he would ever be in a relationship (though a fair amount had started speculating about John), much less that he would ever procreate. And yet he had done just that.

She wondered why he never even bothered to tell her. It wasn't necessarily any of her business, but she was his friend. She (along with Mycroft and now Irene) was the only one who knew he was still alive, and the one who had helped him fake his death. He trusted her, and expected her to trust him and follow along with him, helping him whenever he saw fit (completely disregarding what Molly had planned), and yet he barely ever revealed anything about himself.

Molly told herself not to feel hurt or upset by this, because this was just who Sherlock was. Ever since he had allowed people in, and had allowed himself to care for them (to whatever extent), he expected complete trust and loyalty in return. It was a part of him, and it would probably never change.

And yet, a tiny part of Molly felt almost betrayed. By Sherlock, because John knew, but Sherlock had never felt the need to tell Molly (even though she knew that she could never be what John was to Sherlock – that bond was too strong, and Molly doubted Sherlock cared for anyone more than he did for John…except for Irene and his daughter.)

Another part of her felt betrayed by herself. She had been silly, thinking she would finally somehow convince Sherlock that she was the one for him, when she so obviously wasn't. Molly was sure that if she hadn't made herself believe that so strongly, especially in the last few days, then it wouldn't have hurt as much.

And yet the pain wasn't as sharp and as acute as Molly had expected it to be. Somehow, Molly had accepted that Irene meant the world to Sherlock, and that there would simply never be anyone else who could capture his heart. Irene was special, and one of a kind. She was most likely extremely clever, witty and outspoken for Sherlock to even notice her.

Perhaps that was the core difference between Irene and Molly. Irene was strong and determined (though Molly could be as well, when she put her mind to something) but she was also not afraid to speak her mind in front of Sherlock, be it criticism of the way he acted or opposition to one of his brilliant plans or theories. Sherlock was special to her, but she did not really stand in awe of him as Molly did, but accepted the way he acted completely.

She did not view him as a different person, but as a completely normal one.

That was another thing that distinguished her from Molly, Lestrade, and even John. The way Sherlock acted was completely normal to her; the way he thought and behaved was most likely similar to her own personality. There was nothing about him that alienated him in any way. She did not see him as a special case, but rather as an average person who fit in perfectly in her world.

After Sherlock had been sitting on the sofa without making a sound for over three hours, Molly finally felt the need to make conversation. She sat down next to him gingerly, clearing her throat slightly so that he would actually notice her.

Sherlock looked up at her, his expression completely impossible to read.

"I was just wondering whether or not you want anything?" Molly asked carefully. She wanted to ask Sherlock about Irene and Selena, but she didn't want to pry. Prying wasn't her thing. Instead, she tended to stand and watch quietly on the sidelines, taking in everything she saw, and being completely oblivious to everything else.

"You haven't eaten in two days" she added. Sherlock sighed and nodded. He didn't feel like eating, but he might as well to keep up his strength.

"I'll make you a sandwich" Molly said, moving towards the kitchen. She had realised that living with Sherlock was a bit like living with a child. Sherlock needed to be reminded to be fed, and she had to prepare his food. She had to clearly tell him what the boundaries were; otherwise he would turn her living space into his own laboratory.

"Spit it out Molly" Sherlock suddenly said from the sofa. Molly turned around.

Sherlock almost smiled. "You're dying to ask who Irene is and why I haven't told you about her before. "

Molly said nothing. She wasn't going to deny what he had just said, but she decided that since he hadn't told her then she wouldn't want to force him.

"I suppose I should have foreseen that she would come looking for me and told you earlier, but I was focused on other things." Sherlock added. Instead of walking to the kitchen, Molly stayed where she was.

"She's special to you" she said carefully. She knew Irene mattered to Sherlock, he had kissed her, for God's sake, but she wasn't really sure what type of relationship the two of them shared. She knew that he wasn't good at long, committed relationships, and yet he had a daughter.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

Molly said nothing.

He sighed. He wasn't sure if Molly was angry at him, or hurt, and a few weeks ago he really wouldn't have cared much. But right now, Molly mattered to him as well, and he considered her to a good friend. She had sacrificed a lot to help him, and would have to deal with the guilt of seeing John's face every time they met.

Molly deserved to know.

"I met Irene on a case" he said with a slight smirk, and Molly once again felt something nagging at the back of her mind – the thought that she somehow knew Irene, and that she had seen her somewhere or read something about her before.

"She outsmarted me, outwitted me and manipulated me" Sherlock continued, though he was no longer smirking. Molly wasn't sure if she saw humour or bitterness in his eyes.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. The fact that someone had managed to outwit Sherlock Holmes already astounded her, but the fact that he and Irene were in a relationship after she had done all that to him surprised her as well. She knew that Sherlock hated being outsmarted, and he hated being played for a fool (because it so rarely happened). So what had he seen in this woman?

"I respected her because of her intelligence and wit" Sherlock added, having guessed what Molly was thinking. "She may have manipulated and embarrassed me, but she was one of the very few people who have ever managed to achieve anything of the sort. I admired her for it."

Molly nodded smiling slightly in spite of herself. That sounded like Sherlock.

"You know her" Sherlock said suddenly, and Molly stared at him in surprise.

"From where?" she asked carefully, needing to know. Sherlock smirked.

"You read John's blog".

Molly frowned, not understanding. She went through all the entries on John's blog. _Hound, Study in Pink, The Greek Interpreter, The Woman, the Navel Treatment_…

The Woman.

'**The country was nearly brought to its knees by one person - Irene Adler.'**

Molly gasped.

Of course. No wonder she had thought she had heard Irene's name before – this was Irene Adler. John had told her very little about her, but she had gathered from the blog entry that Irene meant something to Sherlock – John had written something about Sherlock needing to get over her. Molly remembered that she had felt slightly put out after she had read it.

John had also mentioned that she had gotten herself in a witness protection program. But she had introduced herself as Irene…

"John wrote about her" she said, and Sherlock nodded.

"Yes."

Sherlock left it at that, deciding he had given Molly enough information. Molly was clever and could figure out the rest herself.

Except…

"Molly" he said, and she turned around with surprise at hearing him speak again, having decided to go to check something on her laptop (most likely all the posts John had ever written about Irene).

"Do you remember what John mentions at the end of his blog post? About the witness protection program?"

Molly nodded. Yes, she remembered. It made sense; Irene would need to dress up to pretend she was someone else, though Molly didn't really understand the need for all those separate costumes if she had a different identity.

"It's a lie. The world thinks she is dead. Most importantly, my brother believes she is dead. Which means that you cannot mention her name to anyone. Mycroft will probably figure out the rest for himself eventually, possibly even in the coming days, but until then her alias is Elisabeth Baker".

Molly's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, registering everything Sherlock was saying. One permanent thought lingered in her mind. "Dead?"

Sherlock nodded, and for some reason he seemed to find it slightly funny, because he smirked slightly, as he went back to his work. Molly saw this as the end of the conversation.

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Molly knew on the day of Sherlock's funeral that he would be leaving. He had Irene and Selena now, and even though media attention still hadn't sufficiently died down, he now had the cover of being a typical dad. Nobody had any reason to suspect him to be alive.

Sure enough, that particular morning his things were no longer strewn and distributed across her flat, but all packed in a small suitcase. She wasn't sure how she felt about his departure. She was sad, certainly, because Sherlock was her friend, and she was used to having him around. She had known him as long as Lestrade had, right after he had finally recovered from his drug addiction. He was one of the very few people she had managed to stay friends with for almost 7 years.

Because she was his friend now, she knew. And after 7 years, she was completely content with the just friendship bit. Through Irene, she had realised that though he was staggeringly handsome and extremely clever, he honestly wasn't the right man for her. He had seemed mysterious and somehow almost exotic, and that was what had fascinated her about him. But he had his faults, which although she had noticed, she had chosen to ignore.

She needed someone funny and intimate who could just hold her, whom she could really talk and laugh with. She could do some of that with Sherlock too, sometimes, but only in very small doses. She needed someone more down to earth, more relaxed and simply more…normal. Sherlock was human, but he was still extraordinary.

He hugged her the day he left, and even Molly was surprised at Sherlock's sudden display of physical affection.

"Thank you" he said, sincerely, with warmth in his voice that Molly had never really heard before. She gladly hugged him back.

"Anytime" she said, though she had to admit that she hoped that it wouldn't be necessary to help him stage his death anytime soon. He smiled at her and kissed her cheek before he left.

Sherlock would stay with Irene and Selena until a day after the funeral. Molly supposed he would live with Irene for a while, focusing on Moriarty's crime network in that particular part of the world.

She would miss Sherlock certainly, but she would be able to move on with her life.

She wasn't sure how she would be able to deal with the guilt though. Seeing John and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Facing them at the funeral and in the following weeks and months would be difficult.

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There weren't many people at the funeral. John was there, dressed in a black suit, looking weary and tired and depressed. He supported Mrs Hudson with one arm, and held his walking stick with the other. He refused to look anyone in the eye, and kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Mrs Hudson did the same and tiny tear tracks made their way down her cheeks.

In contrast, Mycroft stood stiffly the by the front row of seats, his face expressionless, except for a tiny flicker of emotion in his usually cold and piercing eyes. He surveyed everyone who came, and Molly wasn't sure if he was surprised or disappointed at the number of people who had shown up. He nodded at her once, acknowledging her presence. Molly couldn't quite smile back.

Instead she walked over to Lestrade, who looked tired and grim. Molly knew he felt incredibly guilty, and felt that everything leading up to Sherlock's suicide had been his fault. Molly was aware that neither Lestrade nor John knew what had really transpired on the roof, and though Lestrade was convinced that Sherlock hadn't been a fraud, he was still in shock at how easily he had let himself be swayed into believing that particular fact.

John was ignoring Lestrade, still angry at his apparent betrayal. Lestrade understood John's feelings, but Molly could see he felt hurt by them. He needed support now, especially since this stage in his life wasn't the easiest. He was going through a divorce, his job was on the line because he had consulted with a certain detective, and he felt overwhelming guilt in being a catalyst for Sherlock's suicide.

He smiled at her slightly when he saw her. Molly and Lestrade had known each other for a few years because of their mutual friend, but they had become good friends after the Christmas party at Sherlock's, despite the age difference.

After she had greeted Lestrade, Molly had nothing else to do. There were several other people about, but she didn't know them. She suspected these were people Sherlock had formed some sort of acquaintance with in the past; people who had known him enough to come to the funeral, but who weren't close enough to let extreme pain and sadness show.

Irene arrived just before the funeral started. Molly was almost relieved to see her, needing someone there. She had spoken to John very briefly, but he had barely said anything, and his voice sounded almost choked up the entire time. Mrs Hudson had been kinder, but even she had had problem staying composed.

Irene was dressed differently from the last time Molly had seen her. This time she hadn't bothered with any contact lenses, but instead she wore dark sunglasses, which covered most of her face. She had on a blonde wig this time, short and layered around the face and wore pale lip gloss, and diamond studs in her ears.

Like everyone else she was dressed in black. Her dress wasn't revealing, but as she was the only woman there aside from Molly who was not past her forties, her dress differed from the others. Molly's dress was simple and went below the knees. It did not show off her figure, but it didn't hide it either. Irene's dress instead accentuated every curve in every right place. It stopped at the knees and had a square cut, but in contrast to Molly she looked like she had just stepped off the runway or come straight from a photo shoot.

Irene sat down hurriedly next to Molly, only about a minute before the funeral started. Molly realised that the timing had been deliberate: People were too preoccupied with finding the appropriate seats to notice her, whereas as if she had arrived 10 minutes earlier, people would have seen her and enquired as to who she was.

She smiled at Molly briefly before she looked around, finding John. She cast a sympathetic look in his direction, but he didn't notice her.

The funeral didn't last very long. Mycroft got up to speak briefly about his brother, but made sure that he made no proper statement or said anything definite. Irene thought it was quite clever. Mycroft said nothing about Sherlock being a fraud, or rather _not_ being one, nor did he say that he would personally miss his brother. Instead his speech sounded like it was written by someone who had been hired to do it and did not know Sherlock on a personal level.

Molly could see John seething in his seat. His relationship with Mycroft was extremely strained, as John was still convinced that the detective's suicide had been Mycroft's fault. The fact that Mycroft spoke in neutral tones and allowed no emotion to show during his eulogy did not help.

Irene narrowed her eyes as she observed Mycroft. She had not escaped his notice – clearly, her timing hadn't been perfectly impeccable. This did not bother her though, because she and Sherlock were prepared that he would recognise her. The funeral was quite personal, and she saw that he did not recognise her and must therefore be questioning her presence.

Irene kept a firm mask on during the funeral, much like Mycroft, determined not to let any emotion show. She sat near the back and could easily be mistaken for another almost forgotten acquaintance of Sherlock's. She wore black and her face was sombre, but she did not cry or show sadness and loss, like Sherlock's closer friends. She fit in perfectly with the others.

Molly stayed quiet during the funeral, her face arranged into a similar expression as Irene's. She had never been in a position where she needed to be sad and depressed when she knew that Sherlock was actually still alive. The guilt was like an everlasting weight on her shoulders, getting heavier with each minute. Every time she saw Johns tears or heard Mrs Hudson's choked up cries she needed to fight the urge to tell them what had really happened.

She barely heard Mycroft's words, and instead focused on Irene to see what effect the occasion was having on her. She almost had to laugh when she saw how alike Irene was to Sherlock – the way she stared at Mycroft, the calm and cold expression in her piercing eyes…

Mycroft stared at Irene through his whole speech and as soon as the funeral ended he made is way over to her, a frown on his face. He did not recognise her, and wanted to demand what she was doing here.

She raised her eyebrows coolly, and remained completely unintimidated by the elder Holmes. Her sunglasses stayed on her head and she did not remove the wig. Mycroft could figure out who she was for himself.

He looked at her closely, examining her jaw line, lips, hair and figure, anything to give him a clue as to who she was, not speaking, simply waiting. She smirked at him slightly, and looked around her, making sure that she would not be overheard.

"I came free willingly, Mr Holmes, though your brother is aware of my being here".

His eyes widened slightly at hearing her voice, and she knew that he had made the connection. He said nothing, though the look in his eyes suddenly turned murderous.

"My brother?" he asked dangerously, but left the question open. Irene smiled.

"Yes" she said simply, and watched the news sink in. His eyes widened in realisation. She had just replied to all his numerous enquiries with that one word.

_Sherlock had saved her. Sherlock had fooled him. She knew of Sherlock's survival and had contacted him sometime in the last few days, which suggested that they might be on intimate terms._

He nodded at her, furious, yet coolly composed, taking out a cigarette and offering her one. She shook her head.

"I don't smoke."

He sighed as he exhaled. "My brother informed me he was staying at a hotel in London today, instead of at Miss Hooper's flat. Did your input have anything to do with his sudden change in accommodation and location?"

"Are you insinuating I forced him?"

Mycroft didn't reply, having all the confirmation he needed.

Irene pursed her lips. "He has informed me that you will drive by the hotel to make the final arrangements with him later. I hope you don't mind if I come along? I am paying for the particular hotel room after all, and I doubt there are many taxis in the area." Without waiting for an answer she walked away, leaving a rather stunned yet fuming Mycroft.

She walked over to John, who looked at her with recognition on his face. The two exchanged a few quiet words, and Irene kissed his cheek softly, before slipping a sheet of paper into his pocket.

Her contact details.

Eventually Irene walked over to Molly, smiling at her, exchanging words of farewell. Mycroft couldn't hear what she was saying, but he frowned, realising that practically everyone close to Sherlock had known of her survival aside from him. The thought irritated him.

Finally Irene and Molly embraced, and Irene walked over to him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Mycroft sighed and walked towards a shiny black car, not looking back, not even saying goodbye to the others who had attended the funeral.

Irene followed him silently, her face impassive.

She was surprised when he got in next to her in the car seat instead of sitting at the front. He made it very clear that he was furious, but made no effort to speak to her. After a while she sighed and took out her phone, deciding to text Sherlock.

"What is the nature of your relationship with my brother?" Mycroft suddenly asked, his cold and piercing blue eyes settling on her. Clearly he would not hesitate with his enquiries now that there was no risk of them being overheard by people who thought Sherlock to be dead.

"I wasn't aware that it was any of your business." Irene responded just as icily, though she smirked inwardly.

"It was very much my business when you left him on that plane" Mycroft cut in curtly. "I seem to remember it being very much my business to have to go and check up on him, making sure that he was alright after the way you acted."

Irene snorted slightly. She doubted Mycroft had actually gone to check up on his brother, he had most likely forced John to come to his office every few hours and detail Sherlock's behaviour out for him.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed.

"My brother has never come close to experiencing the emotions he experienced with you. I know they were only there through your manipulation, but they inflicted pain, nevertheless. Despite your thoughts on the subject, I do care about my brother, and I do not like the effect you have on him. How can I be sure you are not merely toying with Sherlock's…_regard_ for you again?

"You could always just trust me".

Mycroft almost laughed, a sour, grim and bitter laugh. "Most amusing Miss Adler."

"I'm glad. Being funny has never really been my strong side."

"Clearly."

Irene shifted on her seat, so she was looking straight at the elder Holmes who did not flinch or waver under her gaze.

"You may rest assured that I do not wish to toy with your brother's _regard_, as you put it, or any other feelings he may have for me. You are implying that I am still manipulating him?" she asked, twisting the gold ring on her finger.

"Given your history, Miss Adler, I do not find the possibility wholly ludicrous. I ask you again, what is the nature of your relationship with my brother?"

Irene sighed, deciding that if she wanted to stop Mycroft's tedious line of enquiries she might as well answer.

"Sherlock and I respect each other, mostly for the same reasons. He saved me from the terrorist prison camp I was going to be executed in, and allowed me to start a new life, something I will always be grateful for. We see each other now and then, and as soon I saw what had happened with him and Moriarty I came here to find him." She raised her eyebrows at Mycroft, and almost laughed at his surprised yet interested expression. "That is the only part of our relationship that I'm going to talk about Mr Holmes, because as I've already said, it's really not your business."

But Mycroft was determine and pressed on. "You came to find him. He did not tell you what had happened and assured you of his survival then?"

Irene's lip curled, annoyed at the suggestion Mycroft was making. He seemed convinced that since Sherlock had not bothered to tell her, it must mean that she wasn't important enough to him.

"He and I have spoken since then, and I know everything about his death. I am familiar with all the events that led up to it, and though he was discreet about it, I am fully aware of your participation in it, Mr Holmes. You're accusing _me_ of causing Sherlock harm, and yet because of your actions, Sherlock had to jump off a building, and subject himself and the people close to him to all this." She motioned to the black mourning outfit she was wearing.

Mycroft's cold mask remained, though she saw that he flinched slightly.

Irene looked out of the car window, and saw that they were nearly at Sherlock's hotel.

"Moriarty's nickname for you was certainly accurate" she told Mycroft with a small smirk, so that he did not know whether she was mad at him or teasing. He raised his eyebrows, his outer mask completely cool and composed, not sure where she was going with this.

"You wanted to know about my relationship with your brother" she said and Mycroft was suddenly alert, noting her use of the preposition. Irene smiled genuinely as the car slowed down and then came to a stop in front of their destination.

"As I said, you are still the Ice man, but you can rest assured, Mr Holmes, that your brother is no longer the virgin."

With that she got out of the car, leaving a behind a stunned Mycroft.

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.

.

Mycroft walked behind Irene silently, but he was practically radiating anger. Irene took no notice of him, relieved that her remark had been enough to stun him into silence.

She opened the door to her room and frowned when she heard no noises, checking her watch. It was past Selena's naptime, and generally she couldn't contain the girl. Selena had just learned to speak, and already had a large vocabulary. She was a lot like her father, but she had certainly inherited Irene's energy. Generally, Selena would be running around the hotel room, talking and laughing. But now all was silent.

Irene looked at Mycroft warningly, holding a finger to her lips. She put one hand in her purse, gripping the revolver there, and listened. She could feel Mycroft only a few centimetres behind her, gripping his umbrella, and with one hand inside his own bag.

They were both armed.

Suddenly Irene heard Sherlock's voice and sighed with relief. His voice was calm and assured, and yet very gentle. She turned around and saw Mycroft's eyes widen at hearing his brother's cold voice so full of warmth and emotion, and Irene suppressed a smile, thinking of his reaction when he found out that Sherlock had a daughter with her. Perhaps she should have told him in the car, to spare the possible argument that might take place, and she silently berated herself for it.

She walked over to the bedroom, and smiled when Sherlock's voice became clearer. He was reading the Grinch who stole Christmas to Selena.

"The Grinch hated Christmas!

The whole Christmas season!

Now, please don't ask why.

No one quite knows the reason".

She looked behind her and saw Mycroft's mouth form a silent O, before he barged past her in to the room, almost knocking her to the side. She hastened after him, and they both stopped at the sight.

Selena was perched on Sherlock's lap, while he read the book to her. She wasn't giggling or jumping around or impossible to control, instead she was calm, quiet and had her head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Mycroft seemed utterly speechless at the sight, while Irene simply smiled, not wanting to ruin the moment. Neither did Sherlock apparently, because he realised that Irene was in the room from her perfume, and he thought he heard a small exclamation of shock from the usually calm and composed Mycroft.

Instead of looking up he simply smiled. "Hello darling" he said quietly, not wanting to rouse Selena, who was almost half asleep. "Mycroft" he added, almost as an afterthought. He stayed still for a few seconds, and then gently put Selena down on the bed. She stirred, and looked up at him, but he smiled at her reassuringly, and she closed her eyes, falling asleep.

Sherlock got up and brushed past Mycroft, ignoring his expression, and leaving the room, closing the door gently. Irene smirked as she and Mycroft followed.

He turned to face her, and the gentleness disappeared. Irene saw the sadness etched on his face, and she knew that this day had taken its toll on him. Sherlock hated to see his friends suffer at thinking he was dead, and having a funeral somehow seemed to make it final.

Irene smiled gently at him, knowing what he was thinking, and walked towards him, until she was in his embrace and kissed him. She hadn't told Mycroft much about the relationship she shared with Sherlock; he could now observe for himself.

Sherlock deepened the kiss, either not caring that his brother was there watching or having forgotten about his presence all together. He was desperate, he needed the contact and the comfort Irene could give him, the only person who could somehow understand what he was going through. He had been behaving like that in the last few days. Losing his friends had had a bigger impact on him than he could possibly have realised, and he found that he needed some form of affection, which he had before always taken for granted.

Irene finally broke the kiss, drawing back, but her hands remained lightly on his chest while one of his hands touched her hip. Sherlock looked at Mycroft, who was trying to cover up his shock and anger.

Mycroft was furious. He realise that this situation was out of his control, and that was not a feeling he liked. Sherlock was too far gone to see what a disadvantage these feelings were, and somehow – this amazed him – it seemed as if Irene actually cared for Sherlock too.

He had had little time to examine the child, but he had quickly noticed that she looked very much like Sherlock. She had inherited his curly hair and perfect lips, smooth skin and chin. But she looked very alike to Irene as well – she had her face, cheekbones, eyes and expression. Mycroft wasn't an idiot. As much as he wished to, he couldn't convince himself that this was Irene's child with some sort of older rich lover she had come across during her search for protection. No, this was undoubtedly Sherlock's and Irene's child.

Mycroft was a fairly rational man, and knew that shouting and berating Sherlock for his stupidity would do no good. He and Sherlock had a fairly strained and tense relationship at the moment. Mycroft knew that Sherlock had forgiven him for what he had done; at least to the extent he managed to forgive him. Deep down, Mycroft knew, Sherlock resented the situation he was in. And the core of the matter was that it was Mycroft's fault, there really was no one else to blame. Other people had helped Moriarty's plan along of course, but it was Mycroft who had made the first and worst mistake.

Shouting wouldn't bring much anyway. Irene was not and never would be intimidated by him, and the same went for Sherlock.

No, there was only one thing, and that was acceptance.

Bitter, grudging acceptance.

Mycroft couldn't say he liked Irene – in fact he despised her, the woman who had come so close to beating him, who had used Sherlock as a way to do that. Remembering the horrible and tedious steps he had taken to ensure she was really dead had been time he could have spent elsewhere.

He stared back at the couple, who were still looking at him, gauging his reaction. Sherlock had one of his eyebrows slightly raised, as if he was daring him to speak against the damnable woman in his arms.

Mycroft sighed. He had wanted to know the particulars of Irene's relationship with Sherlock, but now he almost wished he could forget. In the car, when Irene had given him brief details, he had assumed that the two were on intimate terms, but nothing like _this_. He knew Sherlock had saved Irene in Karachi because of sentiment, but he had assumed that over time Sherlock would distance himself from the woman, or at least suppress what he was feeling.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, once he found his voice again. Sherlock shrugged.

"Ever since Karachi" Irene said, and then promptly turned to face Sherlock, as if Mycroft was already forgotten. Mycroft raised his eyebrows in surprise at being ignored like this.

"How was Lena?" she asked, nodding towards the bedroom. Sherlock smiled.

"Fine. She didn't nap for very long, which is why she isn't running around now. She cried a little bit this morning, I suppose she missed you, but she quietened down very quickly."

Irene nodded. "I'll go and check on her and leave you two to it" she said, nodding at Mycroft once, before she left the two brothers alone.

Sherlock sighed, and finally looked his brother in the face.

"Two years" he said, as soon as he realised that Mycroft was enquiring about Selena's age. Mycroft nodded.

"Congratulations" he said. His voice was icy, his tone coloured with scorn, but his features softened for a brief second, before he composed himself again.

"I suppose you will be spending a majority of your time with them?"

Sherlock nodded in affirmation. "Yes. Obviously, the cover is quite useful. No one will expect me to be with woman and child, so getting out of England will be easier. I can focus on taking out Moriarty's network in Asia and Oceania for now, and then move on."

Mycroft nodded, once, curtly, and sat down, taking out his phone, ready to make the final arrangements with Sherlock.

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.

.

A day later, Irene, Sherlock and Selena left Britain. Sherlock felt strangely sad as he looked around. The accent, the traditions, the tea, the black cabs and red buses…he would miss it. Although had travelled, he had never really known anything but England all his life, and he felt sad to go.

Irene guessed what he was feeling and took his hand gently, almost guiding him through the airport. Selena was sitting delightedly on the trolley, examining the people who walked past (a trait she had undoubtedly picked up from Sherlock.)

"You'll come back" Irene reminded him, as their plane took off. Sherlock nodded, and looked out on the grey tarmac, which was grey and bleak and dull, and no different to other airports, and at the same time so very English.

He nodded, certain. He would come back to England, someday, he wasn't sure when. And maybe, after having taken out Moriarty's network, he could take Irene and Selena too.

And even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. After he had his old life back, he knew that Irene would be part of it, wherever she was.

After all, she would always manage to find him.

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**Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story :)**

**Please review, I would love to know your opinions on this story. I've grown very fond of this two-shot, even though it was murder to write (or at least some bits of it were), but it was worth it. Anyways, please do tell me your thoughts!**

**Laura xxx**


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